brief writings on riches

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35

The neighbor’s tree
casts orange light into the porch
and speckled sun
flits on floorboards
inviting me to smile
and inhale, with gratitude,
my birthday.
and for the first October ever
I don’t want it.
not the day, not the age,
none of it
for the moment.
I do not deny or despise my years
(and in fact,
prefer the way a woman wears
better than a girl).
it’s that I’m distracted
missing out
a little low on laughs
and latitude,
and I’d opt to postpone
just a bit if I could
to offer due breadth
and due lark
to this while.

You crown the year with your bounty; your wagon tracks overflow with abundance. Psalm 65:11